


Eye of the Storm

by thegirlwhoknits



Series: We Learned the Sea [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective!Stiles, Smut, Steter - Freeform, Stilinski Family Feels, deaton explains it all, mating consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vacation is over - Stiles and Peter have to come home and face the Pack's reaction to their mating.  Also some smut, because why not?  Part 5 of "We Learned the Sea".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This part is split into three chapters, because I'll be switching POV with each chapter, and also it's really fucking long; there's a lot to cover in this story. Also, this is the longest sex scene I've ever written, so yay me! I'm going to put up the next two chapters as soon as I can. In the meantime comments and kudos are the air that I breathe!!! Thank you all for reading. :)
> 
> UPDATE: Chapter 2 is up! Expect the last chapter in the next few days. Also, you can follow me on [Tumblr](http://bitchinachinashop.tumblr.com/) for updates, rants, randomness, or to give me Steter/Sterek prompts!

They didn’t get on the road until mid-afternoon the next day. Neither of them wanted to leave the cocoon they’d formed around themselves, and facing the Pack (and Stiles’ father, although they had no intention of telling him anything until Stiles was of age) was even less appealing.  Peter revealed to his mate that no small amount of arguing had been necessary for the Pack to allow him to go instead of Scott or Derek.  Scott in particular had dug in his heels the longest; his mistrust was deep-seated, and Peter secretly felt he still harbored a grudge over his attempt to date Melissa.

So leaving late not only gave them more time together, it also gave them a plausible excuse to put off meeting with the Pack until the next day.

The drive back was almost as silent as the drive there had been, although the silence was significantly more comfortable.  Stiles leaned against Peter’s shoulder as he napped, worn out from the night’s enthusiastic activities.  Peter smirked to himself, proud of his ability to satisfy his mate.  A warm glow surrounded both of them, but fear lurked behind it in the werewolf’s mind.  His mate had finally brought him to life again, but he’d lost too many people to maintain the illusion that such attachments were safe.  He had a strong urge to lock Stiles up somewhere and protect him, but he knew that would also stifle the things he loved best about the young human: his courage, his intellect, and his enthusiasm.

He nudged Stiles gently when they pulled into his driveway.  The cruiser was absent; Stiles’ dad had texted to say that he was working the overnight shift, and to call him at the station to let him know he’d gotten in safely.  His mate groaned as he opened his eyes, then gave Peter a dazzling smile.  He didn’t think he’d ever get over Stiles’ expressive face, especially when it was looking at him with such open affection.

“Hey you,” his mate said softly.

Peter smirked down at him.  “Are you going to get out of the car, or are you planning on sitting here ‘til your dad gets home?”

The mention of his father made Stiles jump and bang his head against the roof of the car.  Peter rolled his eyes as he popped the trunk, and Stiles grinned at him.

“You know you all do that, right?” he said, laughing.

“What?” Peter asked with mild annoyance.

“That thing where you roll your eyes with your whole head, like a simple ocular movement could not possibly convey how done you are with the people around you.  You, Cora, and Derek all do it. Isaac calls it the Hale Family Eyeroll.”

Peter had to consciously stop himself from doing it again. Of course Stiles noticed and only laughed harder.  The werewolf huffed and got out of the car, dragging Stiles’ backpack and duffel from the trunk and dumping them on the driveway.  His mate sidled up beside him, grabbed his hand and looked up at him with what were probably meant to be adorable puppy eyes.

“Hey big bad wolf, you gonna come inside?” he smirked at Peter, who growled lightly.

“You’re sure your father won’t be stopping by?  I might heal quickly, but that doesn’t mean I _enjoy_ getting shot.”

“Naw.” Stiles shouldered his bags and headed for the door. “He always gets stuck doing paperwork on late shifts like this. Sargent Rodriguez usually brings him dinner.”

 

Stiles stopped in the kitchen to get snacks and drinks while Peter took the bags upstairs. The first few times he’d entered the Stilinski home through the front door, it had felt strange. He wasn’t used to being _welcome;_ his life since waking from the coma had mostly been sneaking around and lurking in the shadows.  Being with Stiles was like having a great bright spotlight shone on him.  He’d often had the sense that Stiles was the only person who really _saw_ him, and vice versa.

He supposed he’d be doing a lot more coming through the window again in the near future, though, at least until his mate turned eighteen.  He paused in the doorway to Stiles’ room as the scent hit him like a wall.  Everything in here was so thoroughly _Stiles_ : a flannel shirt on the back of a chair, books and printouts of supernatural info stacked haphazardly on and around the desk, newspaper clippings and crime scene photos taped to the walls.  The lacrosse stick propped in the corner was one of the few reminders that his mate was still a teenage boy, as well as the Emissary to a werewolf pack who saved his friends’ lives on a weekly basis.

The fact that he was having sex with a teenager should probably bother him more.  But Stiles was hardly an ordinary teenager, and Peter had no doubt that he was capable of making—and enforcing—his own decisions.  He was a little surprised that he found the thought of fucking the teen in his room so arousing, though.  Stiles’ age had never been a factor in his attraction to him, for or against, but he had to admit that the forbidden aspect of it was…fun.

And Peter was never the type to deny himself a little fun.

 

By the time Stiles got upstairs, the werewolf was lounging on the bed with his shoes off, looking like he belonged there.  His mate paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of him.  “You look good in my bed.”

Peter smirked at him.  “I’d look even better up close.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “How did I end up mated to such an egotistical creeper wolf?”

“Incredibly good luck?” Peter shrugged.

Stiles laughed, the open, carefree laugh that Peter liked best from him.  “Yeah, that must be it.”  Without further pause, he kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to his mate, dumping the chips and sodas on the nightstand.

“I’m looking forward to making this room smell like us—well, more than it already does,” he murmured into Stiles’ neck.

His mate pulled away just far enough to look at him.  “It smells like us?” he asked curiously.

Peter shrugged.  “Well, we have spent a lot of time here together, researching…” he trailed off, his gaze dropping evasively.

Stiles raised an eyebrow at him.  “Peter?  What are you trying to hide?” he said teasingly.

“I…might have left a few things of mine here to scent-mark it,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.

“What?!?” His mate shrieked with laughter.  “Oh my god, that is adorable in the most _disturbing_ way.”

Peter pouted a little. “It wasn’t just me being possessive, you know. It actually might offer some protection for other creatures to know you’re my mate,” he pointed out defensively.

Stiles snorted.  “Yeah, or paint a big red target on my chest saying, ‘Hit here to piss off Peter Hale.’  Weak, Peter, but still cute.”

Deciding he was done with this topic of conversation, the werewolf used his new, foolproof method of shutting his mate up—climbing on top of him and kissing him senseless. Stiles responded enthusiastically, tangling his tongue with Peter’s and nipping at his bottom lip.  When Peter started to move down his neck, the teen moaned shamelessly, tangling his fingers in his mate’s hair.

“I can’t wait ‘til I’m eighteen,” he gasped. “Want your marks all over my neck, so everyone can see I belong to you.”

Peter felt a surge of arousal at that thought, and yanked Stiles’ shirt off to suck bruises onto his shoulders and chest.  “Do you know…” he said between sucks, “why I didn’t… _fuck_ you at the hotel?”

He groaned and shook his head violently, unable to form words.

Giving one final, slightly vicious nip, Peter propped himself up inches from Stiles’ face. “It’s because I wanted to fuck you for the first time here, in your bed. So every time you come home from school and flop down on it, every time you try to sleep at night, every time you _masturbate_ —” he punctuated the word with a filthy grind of his hips “—you’ll think of my cock pounding into you, making you scream, making you _beg.”_

“God, Peter, yesss…” Stiles’ eyes were blown black with lust; he moaned helplessly, wriggling underneath the werewolf to try and get more friction.  Peter chuckled at him, but his eyes were predatory.  He was holding onto his control by the thinnest of threads, and he was pretty sure his mate could tell, but it only seemed to arouse him more.

He let his claws extend and ran them down the human’s chest lightly; Stiles went very still, but his head was thrown back, pressing into the pillows, his mouth open in a silent moan.  Finally he reached the waistband of his jeans and pulled his claws back in to unbutton them. Stiles lifted his hips to help better tug them off, along with his briefs and then his socks. They all landed in a heap at the bottom of the bed.

“I’m feeling at a significant disadvantage here,” Stiles said, eyeing Peter’s fully-clothed form.  Peter smirked at him and started to peel off his v-neck shirt at an agonizingly slow pace.  His mate huffed with impatience and shifted abruptly to one side, dumping Peter off him onto the bed.  He jumped up before the werewolf could react and started unbuttoning Peter’s obscenely tight black jeans before moving onto the offending shirt.  In about thirty seconds he was equally naked and Stiles was settled above him, straddling his hips.

“Hmm,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Not quite the way I pictured it, but it’ll work.”  He let his claws out again and trailed them down Stiles’ lower back, ending at the swell of his ass and digging them in a bit.  The teenager shivered and smirked down at him.

“Why, were you planning on taking me _doggie style?”_ he taunted.

The werewolf growled and thrust up aggressively.  “Make one more dog joke and I’m cutting you off indefinitely.”

His mate scoffed. “You couldn’t if you tried.” He crawled up the bed and reached into the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube.  On his way back down he set about making his own set of marks, pouting in dissatisfaction as they faded all too quickly. “Stupid werewolf healing.”

He flipped open the cap on the lube and squirted some into his palm, warming it slightly before slowly stroking Peter’s cock.  The werewolf groaned and dug his claws deeper into Stiles’ skin.

“And this is where I’m glad you’re not an Alpha anymore,” Stiles quipped breathlessly, cutting off Peter’s answering growl with a deft flick of his wrist.

“Fuck, Stiles, I need—”

“I know,” Stiles answered, and gasped as he reached behind to start opening himself up with those long, clever fingers.  Peter sat up slightly for a better view of his mate, flushed and panting, rocking up and down as he stretched himself to take a dick inside him for the first time.  _Mine,_ Peter thought. _He’ll only ever be mine. No one else has ever touched him this way._

He was in awe of Stiles’ beauty: the long, lean muscles of his body, the whisky-honey color of his eyes just barely edging his blown-wide pupils.  Somehow the fact that he was human made him even more beautiful, his power and courage that much more extraordinary.  For the first time, he was glad he hadn’t given the teen the Bite, although he still wanted to sink his fangs into Stiles’ wrist, to seal the mating bond completely.

Finally Stiles drew his fingers out, moaning softly at the sudden emptiness, and steadied his mate’s cock with his other hand.  He sank down slowly, his tight heat wrapping around Peter inch by inch, tortuously, until he was completely enveloped.  He paused for just a moment before he began to move, his hips rocking with a sinuous grace Peter wouldn’t have given him credit for.  His head was thrown back, a flush creeping up from his chest into his cheeks.  “Oh god, Peter, you feel so goddamn good.  Love having you inside me, love fucking you like this.”

“Stiles,” Peter gritted out, clenching his teeth to keep from shifting. “God, you’re so tight, so beautiful, such a good boy.”

His mate moaned loudly at that and picked up his pace, digging his fingers into Peter’s chest as he changed the angle.  Peter filed that response away for future reference, with the small part of his brain that was still functioning.  He was dimly aware that his claws were probably breaking the skin where he held onto his mate’s hips, but Stiles didn’t seem to mind.

Finally his mate’s punishing pace grew erratic, and Peter could feel him clenching around his dick. He fumbled for the lube on the bed next to him, then moved one hand from Stiles’ hip to wrap around his cock, stroking him firmly a few times until he came with a loud cry.  Peter thrust three more times as Stiles shuddered above him, come spilling out onto Peter’s hand and chest.  He could feel the pounding of his mate’s heart, the pulse of his pleasure, as he came hard inside him, holding them together as his vision blurred.

 

The next morning, they were sitting in Stiles’ Jeep about four blocks away from the loft, which Peter informed him was well out of the Pack’s hearing range.  “What’s our strategy again?”

Peter offered him a perfectly executed Hale Family Eyeroll.  “We don’t have a _strategy_. We’re going to go in there, deal with the screaming and yelling and lecturing, and then explain the situation once everyone calms down.”

His mate side-eyed him. “That’s a stupid plan. You’re sure Derek doesn’t have wolfsbane bullets?”

“Why would a _werewolf_ have wolfsbane bullets, Stiles?”

“Well, they would’ve come in handy that one time I almost had to cut his arm off.” Stiles grimaced at the memory.  “Maybe there’s a chance they won’t know?”

Peter gave him a look of fond exasperation that said very clearly, _Why do I love you?_

“What? We showered!  I’m even wearing all my own clothes, mostly.”

“Well for one, you left marks all over my neck, do you really think they’re going to believe I had time for a one-night stand after we got in last night? And two, we’re mates; our scents are pretty much permanently mingled now that we’ve, uh, consummated the bond.”

Stiles sniggered.  “Aww, you make it sound so _romantic_ , sugarbuns.”

“Just drive, Stiles.”

 

They almost had a chance to say hello when they entered the loft before Derek took a deep sniff and the Pack exploded with rage.

“What the hell were you thinking, Peter!?” Derek yelled. “We trusted you with this! He’s a goddamn minor—he’s the sheriff’s _son_ , for chrissake!”

“What’s happened?” Allison asked Isaac.  They were standing behind the couch with Lydia, out of the line of fire.

“Peter and Stiles had sex,” he whispered back.

Scott rounded on them, his eyes flashing red.  “They did not ‘have sex’! This fucking pedophile _raped_ my best friend.”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there buddy,” Stiles said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s really not what you think.”

Scott kept advancing, shifting into his beta form and growling, eyes glowing like coals and fixed on Peter.

“Step away from him, Stiles,” Derek warned. He hadn’t shifted yet but it was obvious he was barely holding back.

“No, I will not step away. Can everybody please just _calm the fuck down_ and let us talk?” Stiles yelled back.

“I don’t want to hear anything this _pervert_ has to say,” Scott snarled.  He pushed Stiles out of the way, raising his arm for a vicious blow.

“GET _AWAY_ FROM MY MATE!” Stiles leapt in between them, his eyes flashing blue.  There was a sickening _snap_ and the loft fell into complete, shocked silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles' mating has unexpected consequences, and Stiles finds himself with an unlikely ally.

“Holy crap,” Stiles whispered, staring at Scott and the broken arm he had cradled across his chest.

Derek had a wild look in his eyes that had nothing to do with his wolf.  “Peter, what?  How?”

“I have no idea,” Peter said, staring at his mate in awe.  “But whatever that was, it was gorgeous.”

Stiles snapped out of it long enough to elbow him in the ribs before moving towards Scott with his arms outstretched. “Oh my god, Scott, I’m so sorry…”

Scott flinched away, and Stiles looked like he was going to cry.  Allison moved around the couch and took the Alpha’s good arm, guiding him to sit down.  In a few minutes he could flex his arm slightly, his werewolf healing taking effect, but he was still looking at Stiles like he didn’t know his best friend anymore, and Stiles’ heart felt like it was ripping in two.  What the hell had he done?  And how the hell had he done it?

“Does anyone else think this is a really good time to call Deaton?” Isaac asked into the hush.

The rest of the Pack nodded numbly.

 

Half an hour later, the entire Pack was crowded into Deaton’s examination room, clustered together as far away from Peter (and Stiles, who refused to leave his mate’s side) as possible.  After listening to a terse account of the events from Derek and examining Scott’s arm, which he pronounced completely healed, Deaton sat Stiles up on the examination table.  He took the teenager’s pulse, looked into his eyes with a penlight, and asked him to try to shift.

“I can’t.” Stiles shook his head.  “I’m not a werewolf. I keep telling you guys, I haven’t been bitten or scratched or anything.  Well, technically _scratched_ , but that was by Peter…”

“And as you’re all well aware, I’m no longer an Alpha, so there’s no possible way I’m responsible for this,” Peter finished smoothly as Scott and Derek glared at him with renewed vigor.

“Let’s not rule anything out just yet,” Deaton said dryly, flicking his eyes to Peter. “Scott, you said his eyes flashed _blue,_ correct?”

“Yeah. Just like Derek’s did before he became Alpha,” Scott said.

“Or like Peter’s…” Deaton mused. “If Stiles had been turned, presumably his wolf’s eyes would be golden, because he hasn’t killed an innocent.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who nodded his confirmation.  “I think perhaps it’s time to hear Stiles and Peter’s side of the story.”

“Fucking _finally,_ ” Stiles grumbled.  “That’s what I was trying to do before everyone went all cave-wolf on us.”  He straightened up, looking each member of the Pack in the eye challengingly. “Look, I know what you guys think of Peter, okay?  But the truth is, he didn’t make the first move.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t manipulate you into it,” Derek objected.  Deaton silenced him with a look and he stepped back, scowling.

“Excuse you,” Stiles responded, exasperated. “I know I’m the _weak human_ and all, but I’m perfectly capable of knowing what I want, and enforcing a ‘no’ if I have to. Or have you forgotten the time I set him on _fire?_ ”  He reached out and squeezed Peter’s hand in apology for bringing that up, and his mate squeezed back.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Peter kept his distance the whole week until I made a move on _him,_ and then he pushed me away.  We didn’t actually do anything until we’d talked it through and he made sure I understood all the consequences of accepting our mating bond.”  He paused to observe the others’ shocked reactions with satisfaction.

“Yeah, that’s right, we’re _mates._ This isn’t about Peter just trying to get in my pants.”

“Well…” Peter interjected, smirking, then yelped as Stiles gripped his hand painfully.

 _“Not helping,_ sweetie,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You all know that wolves mate for life, so this relationship is literally deathly serious.  And if any of you lay a hand on my mate, I will rip you limb from limb. Which is apparently a thing I can do now.” He winced apologetically at Scott. “Sorry, buddy.”

Deaton had started pulling out books and leafing through them at the first mention of mating. “So, you’re saying this week is the first time you consummated the mating bond?” he asked without looking up from the thick volume he was skimming.

“Again, such a romantic way of putting it, but yeah,” Stiles confirmed.

“And did anything usual happen during this…consummation?”

“Actually, yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “The first time, right as we—” He glanced nervously at their audience. “Umm, at the uh, _end_ , I had this weird thing happen were I couldn’t tell if I was feeling Peter’s, uh, _emotions_ , or my own.  Like we had some kind of telepathic link or something.  It happened a little bit the, uh, other times,” another nervous glance at the Pack, “but that was the strongest.  It was like I literally couldn’t tell where Peter ended and I began.”

Peter was staring at him. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”

Stiles shrugged.  “I thought it was just, I dunno, a wolf thing? Or hell, maybe just a sex thing, not like I’ve got a lot to compare it to.”

This time Peter was the one to flick a wary glance at Scott and Derek, at the reminder that his mate had been a virgin before they left.

Deaton stabbed at a page in his book triumphantly.  “It is a wolf thing, actually.  Or, more accurately, a wolf-and-Emissary thing.  It’s very rare, because on the occasions when Emissaries mate with wolves, they usually bond with Alphas.  The mating bite turns them, and they lose their powers.”  He stepped back over to Stiles, poking and prodding him with renewed interest.

“You two are different. First of all, Peter’s not an Alpha, so his mating bite wouldn’t have turned you, even if you’d waited to consummate until after the bonding ceremony.  And Stiles, you have a strong natural gift for Empathy, which will make the bond that much more intense.”

“So we do have a telepathic connection?” Stiles asked, confused.

“Not exactly. What you have is an Empathic connection, and it’s tied to Peter’s wolf side.  When his wolf feels strongly about something, you’ll feel it too.  In addition, your strong bond will give you, to a lesser degree, some of the aspects of a werewolf, such as a faster healing rate and enhanced strength.  Which is how you were able to break Scott’s arm, though if he were prepared he could still beat you in a fight.  Also, when your mate is threatened and unable or unwilling to defend himself, you can take on aspects of his wolf to protect him.  It’s possible that after the bonding ceremony, you may even be able to actually shift, in emergencies.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, stunned. “And I’ll still be able to do magic and stuff?”

“Your Emissary powers should remain the same, yes, though you won’t be able to use them if you’re fully shifted.”

“So, that’s like, the best of both worlds, then.”

“Well, there are a few caveats.  The first is that when you’re actively taking on characteristics of Peter’s wolf, as opposed to passively channeling his strength and healing abilities, Peter himself won’t be able to use those characteristics or shift.  This will leave him somewhat vulnerable. You should learn the same type of control as the werewolves in the Pack, to ensure that you don’t accidently weaken him at an inopportune moment.

“Also, your mating bond is significantly more powerful than normal.  That will provide a great anchor for both of you, but there are also consequences if it’s severed—for example, by one of you dying.  The remaining mate will become highly unstable, and given both of your abilities, the consequences would be devastating.  You should be careful about prolonged separation, too; your normal routines shouldn’t be a problem, but for example if you were thinking about going away to college, Stiles, you should plan to take Peter with you.”

Stiles hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but now that he did he realized he wouldn’t consider any other option anyway.  “That’s fine.”

“No, it is _not_ fine,” Scott burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. “You’re saying that my best friend has to be shackled to this creep like some kind of slave!  There must be some way this can be undone.”

“Scott—” Stiles started. Deaton interrupted him.

“There are some ceremonies that could be performed to sever the bond, since it hasn’t been cemented by a mating bite yet, but they’re very risky.  I’ve no idea if they would even work on this type of bond, and I wouldn’t even consider trying them without Stiles’ _and_ Peter’s consent.”  He closed his book with finality and put it back on the shelf.

“This is bullshit!” Scott protested.  “I don’t see why _he_ should get any say in this!”

“Scott, shut up!” Stiles yelled at him.  “It’s you that doesn’t get any say here.  This is _my_ relationship, Peter is my mate, and _I love him._ ”

“Fine!” his friend spit back. “But don’t come crying to me when he screws you over.”  He stomped out of the room.  The rest of the Pack slowly followed, glancing over their shoulders at Stiles with varying expressions of concern, pity, and fear.

Peter came to stand in front of Stiles, who slumped forward, laying his head on the werewolf’s chest.  “Well, that went well,” Stiles sighed, as Peter wrapped his arms around him.

 

Annoyingly, Stiles’ dad had the night off, so he had Peter drop him off rather than what he really wanted, which was to curl up in bed with his mate for hours and let the stress of the day bleed off him.  They made plans to meet up the next day, partly to work on his control with Deaton, and partly just to spend time together.  The vet had told them that, especially in the early days of their mating, they would probably find being apart for more than a day or so uncomfortable.

His dad was at the dining room table when he came in, elbow-deep in paperwork, with a glass of scotch off to the side.  He looked like it was probably his first, though, so Stiles didn’t worry about it.  He looked up when Stiles leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat.

“Oh, hey kiddo.  Listen, I’m sorry about not being here when you got back last night, I had a mountain of paperwork to get through.  Which, as you can see, isn’t quite done.” He chuckled ruefully. “How was your trip?”

“It was great, actually.” Stiles couldn’t quite keep a slow smile from spreading across his face.

The sheriff nodded, looking at him carefully.  “You look good.  Rested.  Haven’t seen you without those dark circles under your eyes for a while.”

“Yeah, I got a lot of sleep and fresh air.  The conference was pretty low-key—like Peter said, we were pretty much there to see and be seen—and they had some great hiking trails and a pool.  It was kind of fun.”

His dad grinned.  “That’s great, I’m glad! And Peter didn’t give you any trouble?”

“Perfect gentleman,” Stiles told him, ignoring the slight twist of guilt in his stomach.

“Good.  You know, I wasn’t sure what to make of him when he first started coming around, but he seems like a pretty good guy. These days, at least.” He took a sip of his scotch and turned his attention back to the work in front of him.  “Listen, I have to finish this up, but there’s some take-out in the fridge for you if you’re hungry.  We’ll talk later?”

“Sure, Dad.” Stiles was just about to turn away and head upstairs when a knock on the door made him jump.  He groaned internally. _Crap, I hope it’s not Scott. I am not in the mood to deal with more of this bullshit, especially with Dad around._

Then again, if Scott wanted to talk he’d probably just text him, or come in through the window. Unless he was afraid of finding Peter there.

To his surprise, it turned out to be Lydia, the one person who hadn’t spoken up during the whole mess earlier.  She didn’t look angry, either; just determined.

“Hey Lydia, what’s up?” he asked, trying to sound normal for his dad’s benefit.

“Not much.  I just wanted to talk to you, if you have some time?” She said politely, taking the hint.

“Sure, c’mon up to my office.” He tripped a little as he turned around, nerves getting the better of him.

 

Lydia perched gracefully on his computer chair, gesturing for him to sit on the bed across from her.  He remained standing, leaning warily against the closed door.

She sighed. “Look, I’m not here to lecture, I’m here to listen, alright?  I know what it’s like to have Peter mess with your mind,” she held up a finger to forestall his objection, “AND I know what it’s like to be dating the douchebag everyone hates. So whichever one this is, I figured I might be able to help.”

Stiles finally allowed himself to sink down on the bed in relief.  “Thanks, Lydia. You have no idea how much this day has sucked.”

“Oh, I have some idea,” she said wryly. “Giant shapeshifting lizard, remember?”

“Point. How are these even our lives?”

She shrugged. “It is what it is.  Now, you want to tell me exactly how things went down with Peter?  Not the gory details,” she added quickly. “Just a general outline.”

He explained to her everything that had happened at the resort.  It felt unbelievably good to talk to someone about it who wasn’t trying to eviscerate his boyfriend, and he felt himself smiling as he described Peter’s reaction to their first kiss, and to his final acceptance of their mating bond.

When he finished, Lydia had a small smile on her face as well. “Well, I still have some personal issues with Peter, but I’m gonna go ahead and agree that he seems to have real feelings for you. And obviously you’re happy about things—do you know I haven’t actually seen you smile in over two months?”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands. “So let’s talk strategy.  It’s not going to be easy to win over the Pack, and some people will be harder than others.”

“Scott,” Stiles groaned.

“Definitely Scott.  He hates Peter even more than me, and he’s too emotional to see that Peter does have a caring side under all his self-serving bullcrap.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What? Yeah, of course I’m pissed about all the shit he put me through, but I’m enough of a manipulative bitch myself to understand his motives.  It’s not like any of us would be exactly stable after all the crap he went through, and he’s been pretty well-behaved since then.  I think dying actually hit a reset button on his brain or something,” she speculated.

He shrugged in agreement; that was pretty much his take on things, too.

“So, anyway, Scott’s going to need the most talking around, and by extension Allison; I’m probably the best person for that, given my history with Peter and my friendship with Allison.  So your best bet is to give him some space while I work on them.  Derek will be easiest; he’s started trusting Peter more since his resurrection, although he doesn’t exactly like him, and he understands the concept of a mating bond so he’s more likely to just accept it as an unpleasant fact and move on.

“Isaac won’t have much of an opinion because he wasn’t around when Peter was on his rampage, but he might be swayed by Scott, so we should keep an eye on that too.  I’m assuming we’re not worrying about your dad until you’re eighteen?”

“Yeah.” He shuddered. “He likes Peter okay right now, but that wouldn’t prevent him from shooting him in the balls if he thought Peter was giving me the bad touch. And he _does_ have wolfsbane bullets, Chris gave him some for Christmas.”

“Of course he did,” Lydia laughed. “Okay, I’ll get to work on the Pack then, just leave that to me. Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Peter and I are going to see each other tomorrow, but knowing him he’ll probably crawl through my window after my dad’s asleep.  Is it weird that his creepiness is starting to seem adorable to me?”

“Probably Stockholm Syndrome,” Lydia said gravely.  She stood up and held her arms out for a hug. “Hey, I’m really happy for you, okay?  Try not to worry about the Pack too much; everything will sort itself out eventually.”

“Thanks Lydia.” He hugged her back tightly, overwhelmingly grateful and relieved to have probably the scariest member of the Pack unexpectedly in his corner. Maybe they could get through this after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles falls into a magical coma, and some revelations take place ahead of schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not as happy with this chapter as the last two, but frankly it's been a shit week and it's a miracle I finished it at all. I've got a couple short fics on my plate and then I'll be working on the next story in the series, Landing Party. Stay tuned to my [Tumblr](http://bitchinachinashop.tumblr.com/) for updates! Thank you all so much for your patience and support- I *love* hearing what you think!!!

Lydia was right; for the most part, the Pack came around over the next few weeks.  Scott stopped growling at Peter during Pack meetings, Allison’s pitying looks subsided, and Isaac pulled Stiles aside to ask a few very inappropriate questions about his sex life with Peter.  Stiles actually answered those with all the enthusiasm of a sixteen-year-old girl; it had kind of sucked to be finally getting some and not be able to brag about it to anyone.  And Peter gave him a _lot_ to brag about.

What probably went the farthest towards swaying the Pack’s opinion was Stiles’ obviously improved health.  He gained back the weight he’d lost after the Alpha Pack, and added some muscle honing his new strength and agility with the rest of the Pack.  He learned to make the most of his added abilities, especially to take advantage of enemies who assumed he was as weak as an ordinary human.  He also practiced drawing more strength from Peter, although he couldn’t fully shift yet—they wanted to wait until Stiles was eighteen to perform the mating ceremony, so they could have a proper celebration with the sheriff and Melissa included.

He and Peter were together pretty much any time his dad was working, Peter even helping him with his homework so they could have more ‘quality time.’  Scott was making an effort to spend time with Stiles too, so his social calendar was pretty full.  Luckily the supernatural side of things was quiet for the moment.

Naturally it couldn’t last.  Over the course of a few weeks, runners in the Preserve started complaining of heat stroke shortly before falling into coma—which would have been reasonable had it not been _November_ and about forty degrees out.  They’d all habitually run the same path, but none of the werewolves could scent anything unusual in the area. So Deaton set Stiles up with a pair of dowsing rods and sent him to look for a magical signature.

The Pack had gotten used to thinking of Stiles as a sort of junior werewolf; no one seemed to consider that he might be at risk from something that was clearly targeting humans.  Until he came back to the loft with a temperature of 106 and passed out on the threshold.  They called Melissa and Deaton, did everything they could to bring his temperature down, but no one could wake him.

Peter was frantic.  He refused to leave his mate’s side, replaced his ice packs as soon as they showed signs of melting and taking his pain whenever he looked like he might be in discomfort.  Derek had never seen him so concerned about another person, even when Cora was ill.   He made Peter’s favorite tea and brought it to him at regular intervals, replacing the half-full mugs when they grew cold.  Lydia bullied him into eating so he wouldn’t pass out.  Even Scott offered to spell him so he could rest, and Peter actually managed to be polite in his refusal.  It was the first time they’d spoken civilly to each other since Peter and Stiles were mated.

Eventually they had to inform the sheriff about what had happened.  Melissa went to pick him up and tell him in person; it wouldn’t help anyone if he got into an accident speeding to the loft.  His eyes were red when he arrived, and he rushed to Stiles, barely sparing a glance for the werewolf clutching his boy’s hand.

“Do you have any idea what caused this?” he demanded.

“Not yet, sir,” Derek said. “Deaton and Lydia are researching it right now.” He gestured to the pair stationed at the table in the back of the loft, paging through endless stacks of books and combing the internet respectively.

The sheriff made a frustrated sound and started pacing, rubbing at his face.  After a few minutes he came to a stop and looked more closely at Stiles’ bedside.  “Why does Peter look like he’s about to keel over too?” he asked slowly.

“He’s been taking Stiles’ pain and giving him some of his strength,” Derek explained cautiously.

“Isn’t that something all werewolves can do? Can’t you take turns?” John asked.

“We can all take someone’s pain, yes.  The strength-giving is…more complicated.  Also, Peter won’t let us take his place.”  Derek looked down at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck.  He really didn’t want to have the conversation he knew was coming, but maybe it was better to get it out of the way now, when they had bigger things to distract Stiles’ father.

“Complicated _how?_ ” the sheriff asked suspiciously. “The truth, Derek,” he warned when the Alpha’s silence went on too long.

“You should probably sit down for this, sir.” Derek gestured to the sofa.  When John was settled, he sat down in the armchair opposite and began carefully, “The first thing you should know is that every one of us has Stiles’ back, and we want what’s best for him.  If he were in any situation we thought was harmful to him, we would do anything to put a stop to it, no matter who was involved.”

“I know you all care about him, Derek, but this is not exactly reassuring me.”

Derek took a deep breath. “How much do you know about wolves?”

John raised an eyebrow. “More than the average person, I suppose.  I did a fair amount of research back when we still thought we were looking at animal attacks in town.”  He pointedly didn’t mention the fact that it had been Peter who was responsible for those attacks.

“Then you know that wolves mate for life.” Derek paused, hoping he wouldn’t have to actually say it, but Stiles’ father just continued to look at him expectantly.  He bit the proverbial bullet. “Sheriff, Stiles and Peter are mates.”

“ _MATES?_ What the hell is that supposed to mean!?” John seemed to realize he was shouting, and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper.  “Does Stiles know about this?”

“He’s known for a little while, sir.”

“Since the werewolf conference,” the sheriff stated, putting things together. “That’s why he’s seemed so different since then.”

Derek nodded. “Not acknowledging the bond was actually stressful for both of them. Normally a mating bond isn’t as strong for humans as it is for werewolves, but because Stiles is an Emissary, it’s actually more powerful for him.  If he and Peter are separated for too long, they both become stressed and eventually unstable. This isn’t Peter’s fault,” he added as the Sheriff frowned at Stiles’ mate. “He doesn’t have any more control over it than Stiles does, and in fact he put off telling him about it until it became clear it was putting far too much strain on your son.”

“So my underage son is mated for _life_ to a thirty-something werewolf.” John buried his head in his hands. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“The bond actually does make Stiles stronger,” Derek said. “He’s doing much better than the other humans who’ve fallen prey to this, and because of the bond Peter can lend him strength.”

“There’s only one thing that matters to me.” John lifted his head to look Derek directly in the eye. “Does he care about my son? Does he make Stiles happy?”

Derek nodded towards his uncle, still grasping Stiles’ hand and murmuring soft words to him.  “He hasn’t left his side since he collapsed.  And I’m sure you’ve noticed how much healthier Stiles has looked the past few months. He actually _sleeps._ Yes. Peter cares about him more than anyone I’ve ever seen, even before the fire.  They’re in love.”

The Sheriff let out a deep sigh.  “Well, that’s that then, I suppose. Just one more thing to file under ‘Life in Beacon Hills.’  Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Deaton about what he’s found out so far.”

 

It was two in the morning before Deaton and Lydia had a breakthrough.  Peter had finally fallen asleep, his head resting on the bed by Stiles’ arm.  John was nodding off in the armchair to the other side.  Scott and Isaac were playing cards on the floor. Derek waved them over, signaling them to keep quiet so they wouldn’t wake the two adults.

“Firebirds?” Isaac whispered. “Are those really a thing?”

“They’re rare, but yes.  They were hunted nearly to extinction centuries ago because their eggs are believed to have rejuvenating powers.  That’s why this this one reacted so strongly the encroachment on her territory—she’s nesting.  She was essentially protecting her eggs by giving the runners a sort of magical heatstroke,” Deaton explained.

“Why didn’t she attack us when we were checking out the trail?” Scott asked.

“Firebirds wouldn’t consider werewolves natural enemies. You have rejuvenating powers of your own and therefore no need to steal her eggs.  Humans, on the other hand, she would consider an immediate threat.”

“So how do we get her to release the humans?” Derek asked.

“My suggestion would be to volunteer to guard her eggs until they hatch, which, given the date of the first attack, should be sometime in the next seventy-two hours.”

 

Scott and Derek negotiated a deal with the firebird and set up a rotating patrol of her territory with Isaac.  It was agreed that Peter should be left out of it, giving him a chance to rest and spend time with Stiles (and preventing him from trying to exact any revenge for his mate’s illness).  The firebird agreed to release Stiles at once, and the rest of the humans when her eggs had hatched.

The moment Stiles awoke he was nearly smothered by his mate and father both trying to embrace him at once.  Peter drew back quickly, seeming to notice the sheriff’s presence for the first time.  Stiles glanced between them, nervous.

“Umm, Dad… There’s something we should probably talk about.”

John pinned them both with a stare that was stern but frankly not as murderous as his son was expecting.  “Yes, I think there is.  But it can wait until you’re better.”  He pointed at Peter. “Dinner, Friday.  And for heaven’s sake, bring something to drink.”


End file.
